Trevor.
The name registers in my brain.
My grip on her waist tightens involuntarily.
Trevor puffs out his chest like he's some kind of fucking hero. "Doesn't look like talking to me."
I'm about two seconds away from showing this punk what a real man looks like when Aggie's hand comes to rest on my chest.
The touch is light, but it's enough to make me pause.
I'm about to tell this Trevor kid to fuck off when he does something monumentally stupid.
He reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing firmly.
His voice is dripping with confidence and he has no idea who he’s fucking with. "I think you should leave her alone, dude."
Time slows down. I see red. Before I even realize what I'm doing, my fist connects with Trevor's jaw.
There's a satisfying crunch, and he stumbles backward, crashing to the floor.
I snarl, standing over him. "Don't fuckin' talk to me like that."
The party around us goes silent.
I can feel dozens of eyes on us, but I don't give a shit.
All I care about is the way Aggie's looking at me, her emerald eyes wide with a mix of shock and... something else.
"Jesus Christ, Jolt!”
I don't respond.
Instead, I grab her wrist and start dragging her toward the exit.
She struggles at first, but I'm not letting go.
"We're leaving," I growl, not bothering to look back at her.
We burst out of the frat house onto the front lawn.
The cool night air hits us, a complete opposite to the stuffy heat inside.
I march toward my bike, Aggie stumbling behind me.
She snaps, trying to wrench her arm free. "Let go of me, you absolutebampot!"
I spin around, facing her. "Get on the bike, Aggie. Now."
For a moment, I think she's going to argue.
Her eyes are blazing, that fiery Scottish temper of hers threatening to explode.
But then she looks back at the house, where curious faces are peering out the windows, and her shoulders slump.
"Fine," she mutters, climbing onto the back of my Harley.
I swing my leg over, feeling her reluctantly wrap her arms around my waist.